“You let him alone,” growled Rasp. “I’ll bring him to in a jiffy;” and, rudely elbowing the doctor aside, he seized Dutch’s arms, pumped them up and down a few times, and then forcibly pressing on his breast produced a kind of artificial respiration, for at the end of a minute Dutch sighed, and then rapidly began to recover.
As he commenced breathing more regularly, those surrounding became aware that Hester was trying to get to his side, for, unnoticed in the excitement, she had recovered her senses, and then, pale and sick at heart, crept to the group, where she dreaded to look upon the form of him she loved lying dead.
A look of joy, succeeded by one of intense despair, crossed her face as she knelt down by Dutch’s head, waiting to see his eyes open and to hear his words, as she shudderingly recalled the promise she had made to save his life.
She was so behind him that he did not see her, when at last he opened his eyes, and gazed wildly about him as if not comprehending where he was, and directly after he placed his hands to his face as if to feel the helmet.
His eyes opened more widely then, and Rasp held the cup of a brandy flask to his lips.
“Take a sup o’ this here, Mr Pug,” he said in his rough way.
Dutch obeyed without a word, and his face began to resume its natural aspect.
“That was a near touch, Mr Dutch, sir,” growled the old fellow. “You would stop down too long.”
“Too long?” said Dutch faintly, as he tried to sit up.
“No, no, be still for a few minutes,” said the doctor, who had been pushing up the india-rubber bands of his sleeve, and feeling the sufferer’s pulse, to Rasp’s great disgust.